


the moon runs down like mercury

by domeric_bolton



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Circus, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3555845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domeric_bolton/pseuds/domeric_bolton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1930, the month is June, and Xavier's Flying Circus of Gifted Children is at the height of its career.<br/>It is a circus filled with strange and mysterious people. It is no surprise that a strange and mysterious man has taken to following them around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the moon runs down like mercury

**Author's Note:**

> this is a mix of comicsverse and movieverse. so there’s going to be hella inconsistencies but just go with it. also, it's set in the 30's, but let's just pretend that people in the 30's spoke like this. thank you. 
> 
> title from: “strange powers,” the magnetic fields

The year is 1930, the month is June, and Xavier's Flying Circus of Gifted Children is at the height of its career. The food in the concession carts is cheap and stale, the big top smells faintly like horse shit and sweaty feet, and the ringleader may be old and bald, but Xavier’s is regarded across the Midwest as being the best circus that anyone has ever seen.

 

It travels from Minnesota to Missouri, from April to October, and it opens its rusty iron gates for seven straight nights before packing up and sweeping away to another small town. If one is lucky enough to catch it before the circus vanishes, as it is wont to do, they can experience everything from physics-defying acrobats to fire eaters to clowns in the big top. Before the performance, a small tent is set up to house a fortune teller, and after, two brothers put on a terrifying fire-throwing show in the deserted field by the tent.

 

The ringleader is old, in his late sixties, with a shining bald head and a warm bright smile, and he commands his performers from a wheelchair that occasionally levitates to the great surprise and joy of the audience. He is Xavier, he says, and the performers are his children. They range from sixteen years old to middle aged, and each one is beautiful and fantastic in their own way: the teenage boy who appears to be made entirely out of ice, the young woman with striking white hair who can summon the wind until she levitates, the middle aged redhead who can shatter glass just by screaming at it.

 

It is a circus filled with strange and mysterious people. It is no surprise that a strange and mysterious man has taken to following them around.

 

He appears at the red-and-white striped tent each time the circus settles down, no matter the date, no matter the weather, no matter the location. He arrives before the gates open and leaves the tent after the stagehands are done sweeping the sawdust off the ring. 

 

Some say that they have seen him speaking to the charming ringleader or his beautiful blue-painted assistant, but no one has been able to catch the mysterious man in the act. He becomes merely a presence at each opening night, someone whom the circus patrons have grown accustomed to. He is just another thrill down their spines, just a ghostly figure in his scarlet coat that creates the fanciful allure of Xavier's Flying Circus.

 

-

 

“Ladies and gentleman,” the lecturer says in a booming voice, “boys and girls, children of all ages!”

 

It is dark inside the tent, a single spotlight illuminating the lecturer, the harsh light glinting off his brilliant orange hair. He smiles widely, spreads out his hands and continues, “Welcome, my friends, to the spectacle that will have you shivering in your seats and shaking from sheer joy Welcome to the performance of your life. Welcome... to Professor Xavier’s Flying Circus for Gifted Children!”

 

The applause is like a million thunderclaps.

 

The ringleader comes out in a wheelchair, sitting regally on its frame like it were a throne, and speaks to the audience. They forget exactly what he says; his voice is calming and bright and the words do not matter so much as the way he says them. And then the circus begins.

 

It is an explosion of what must be magic, for there is no other explanation for Xavier’s Flying Circus. An illusionist jumps through a solid pane of glass while her friend disappears in a puff of yellow glitter. A blue-skinned acrobat dances across the tightrope in a cloud of purple smoke while a blue-skinned contortionist twists herself into a multitude of impossible positions. A knife thrower is impaled on his own blade, causing the audience to shriek, before the man pulls it out of his chest and appears completely unharmed. Each act is more baffling and stupendous than the last, and the audience is spellbound.

 

When the circus finally ends, the ringleader comes out once again and bows as best as he can in his floating wheelchair. The audience is a riot of screaming praise, but when he lifts his hands, they fall into a respectful silence.

 

“Thank you for coming to see my children tonight,” the ringleader says lovingly. “I hope I will get to see many of you soon. But for now, we must go. Goodnight.”

 

And then he claps his hands, and the circus vanishes. The audience is left in a dark field, sitting on bleachers, with nothing but the sound of crickets chirping in their ears. 

 

One last magnificent trick by Xavier’s Flying Circus.

 

-

 

The gates are closing. Xavier's Flying Circus is leaving Marysville for the summer, and as the big top vanishes around her, Anna Marie realizes that she will never see them again.

 

“Wait!” she calls out, and rushes forwards into the cool Tennessee night. The bugs nip at her skin and fall to the soft wet ground, dead, and Anna Marie feels like she’s going to vomit all over her new dress.

 

Cody is back there, hidden under the big top’s bleachers like he’s a corpse. He’s still breathing, but his eyes are shut and he won’t wake up no matter what Anna does. The thought of Cody’s limp body is making her heart race fast, like she’s being chased by wolves.

 

She bursts out of the ring of dazzled circusgoers and races into the darkness.

 

“Don’t close the gates!” she yells when she finally catches up to the circus strongman with his powerful silver hands on the doors. He stops, glancing up at her. Next to him is the ringleader, sitting regally in his wheelchair, who motions for the metal-skinned strongman to let the gates go. Anna stops several feet in front of them and waits, panting.

 

“My dear,” says the ringleader, and his voice is just as warm as it was during the performance, “are you all right?”

 

Anna wraps her arms around her chest. She can’t imagine she looks all right; her dress is muddy and her cheeks are flushed and tear stained.

 

He seems to understand. “Piotr, you can go back and tend to your sister,” the ringleader says quietly to the silver boy, and he leaves. To Anna, he asks, “Are you hurt, my dear? Do you need help?”

 

She doesn’t know what to say. Cody’s face flashes in front of her eyes, and suddenly the ringleader’s eyes widen and his face grows grim. “What’s your name?”

 

“Anna Marie,” she whispers.

 

“Anna Marie, dear, it’s going to be all right.” He lifts two fingers to his temple and murmurs a soft malediction before smiling up at her and continuing, “You made sure that boy is safe?”

 

“How- how do you know about him?” The night is getting colder by the minute, and Anna feels again like she might be sick. “Are you magic?”

 

“No, darling.” The ringleader smiles. “I can read your mind. See, I’m a mutant, just like you.”

 

She waits, sniffling.

 

“It’s a little bit complicated, but being a mutant essentially means that you’re different from most people. You have… special abilities, you see. When you that boy kissed you in the big top, at the end of the show, you unleashed your mutant ability. And,” he says with a smile, “as long as he’s safe, you have nothing to worry about.”

 

“I just barely touched him,” says Anna Marie weakly. “Does that mean I can’t touch…”

 

The idea is so horrible that she can’t continue. Her stomach flips.

 

The ringleader wheels himself forward slightly, and reaches up to place a gentle hand on Anna’s shoulder, where her skin is hidden by the dress’ fabric. “You’re a strong girl, Anna Marie. You can get through this, I promise. My circus is full of mutants just like you, who experienced horrible hardship-”

 

“Your circus,” she interrupts, paying no mind to the look of offended amusement on his face, “how many mutants do you have in there?”

 

“Why, all of my performers are mutated.”

 

Anna Marie thinks about her mother and father, back in their tiny house in Mississippi. Right now they’re probably going to bed, assuming that she’s safe in Cody’s mother’s house for the night- if they’re even thinking about her at all.

 

“Do you think you might have room for one more?” she asks, and the ringleader’s face splits into a smile.

 

-

 

It’s really just a big wonderful trick conjured up by Illyana and Kurt and a few of the other reality benders, making the tent and all the performers disappear. All they do it move it to another vacant lot nearby and pack up as fast as possible. Kitty’s glad that they only do it on the last night of a show; it’s exhausting.

 

She feels fizzy and excitable. Piotr is bustling in the direction of the relocated big tent, and Kitty follows him, trying not to giggle. He’d been so good tonight, his skin shining in the candlelight and his jaw clenched as Piotr pretended to struggle to lift an anvil. Her own act hadn’t gone as well as his, in truth, but Kitty’s still feeling good about the night.

 

“You need to get to bed instead of wandering around,” Ororo says gently to her as she passes by, leading the elephant from Angel’s act to its train car. “You’re off cleanup duty tonight, and you might as well get some sleep.”

 

“Okay, mooooom,” whines Kitty, but she’s smiling. Ororo lets go of the horses’ reins for a second to kiss her gently on the cheek, and Kitty giggles. Piotr turns around when he hears the noise.

 

Kitty grins at him. She is buoyant, light.

 

“You can’t ignore me forever,” she teases gently, skipping up to him where he was hiding behind the gates, and watches as the boy turns red. When he’s in his natural human skin, she’s noticed that Piotr blushes a lot around her. Kitty likes it.

 

“I haven’t been ignoring you.” His voice is quiet. He’s so shy around Kitty lately, her giant strongman of a boy. Piotr lifts another bale of hay onto his shoulders and says, “I just hate it when showgoers say those things about you.”

 

“I can get over it. Fellas say stupid stuff about us all the time.” Kitty does hate those men, and women too, the ones who think that she’s a sideshow attraction to be hollered at. She pats Piotr’s arm and continues, “Don’t worry about me. I’m tough.”

 

The showgoer in question had been a middle aged man who, in the middle of Kitty’s Shadowcat act, had mumbled something about “goddamn kikes” loud enough for her to hear. It was, she thought, very lucky for him that the man in the scarlet coat hadn’t heard him. Kitty isn’t so sure who the man is, but she had heard Charles murmuring last winter about another Hanukkah without him, even though Charles is a Protestant.

 

Piotr ducks his head. “I wanted to- I was angry. I thought that I needed to get away from that мудак before I...”

 

Kitty steps forward. She smiles, gently places her hands on his shoulders (she has to stand on tiptoe, he’s so tall) and kisses Piotr softly on the cheek. “You’re sweet.”

 

She feels him blushing under her lips.

 

-

 

“Card trick, mademoiselle?” drawls a voice from behind Anna Marie, and she turns to face a young man with a long brown coat and sunglasses. She giggles nervously.

 

“What kind of trick?”

 

Her own act, the one that Mr. Xavier is helping her cultivate, is more of a trick than anything. She touches him without her gloves for three seconds - right before he gets dizzy - and then suddenly Anna’s mind is bursting with other people’s thoughts. During the halftime show, while the firethrowers entertain the crowd outside with their spectacular light show, she pretends to see people’s future by reading their minds.

 

“But isn’t that like stealing your power?” Anna had asked nervously, and Mr. Xavier had replied that it would help her learn how to use her power. Then he had said that it was probably a better job than being someone’s assistant.

 

“A magic trick, of course.” He shuffles his deck of worn-out cards and raises an eyebrow, and Anna feels herself smiling again. “That’s what I do for M. Xavier’s circus, after all.”

 

“I didn’t see you in the show.”

 

“I’m a sideshow attraction. Je m’appelle Gambit.” Gambit smiles lazily, and tilts his head just enough so Anna can see over the top of his sunglasses: his eyes are pure black, with bright crimson irises. She grins, entranced.

 

“Is that your mutation? Your eyes?”

 

“Not just, chère.” He taps one of the cards and winds up like a star pitcher, making her giggle again. Then Gambit hurls the card as far as he can into the empty field.

 

The earth bursts open where the card touches the ground, an explosion of pink smoke and dirt, and Anna is shocked for half of a second before she laughs and claps her hands.

 

“That’s marvelous,” she says breathlessly.

 

"LeBeau, you stop flirting with that girl,” calls a gruff voice behind them, and Gambit laughs heartily as Anna whirls around to find a man smoking a cigar and leaning up against a tree. His hair is oiled into two prongs like claws, and his eyes are dark but soft with fondness. 

 

“I would never, mon ami.” Gambit opens his arms defensively as the other man walks toward them. “I’m merely showing her my special talents. Why don’t you do the same?”

 

“I’ve seen him, he’s the knifethrower,” Anna says, suddenly remembering his scowling face from the show. He’s billed as THE WOLVERINE, right before COLOSSUS and after ICEMAN AND PYRO. She’d liked the act.

 

“Not just,” repeats Gambit, and punches the knifethrower in the arm. “Come on, let’s see them.”

 

The knifethrower sighs, but then he flexes his impressive muscles and crosses his arms over his chest, and suddenly claws spring out of his fists.

 

“Oh!” exclaims Anna, but she feels herself begin to laugh again. “That’s amazing.”

 

“Glad you like ‘em,” says the knifethrower. “I’m Logan. You got a name, kiddo?”

 

“I’m Anna Marie,” she volunteers, but pauses when she realizes that he wants more. Her stage name. “It’s- Rogue. I guess. My name is Rogue.”

 

Logan nods, and Gambit pats her appreciatively on the back. His hand is warm, Anna smiles until her cheeks feel like they’re going to rip with joy.

 

-

 

“I’m getting too old for this,” Alex moans from across the tent. Darwin watches him lower himself into a sitting position, leaning his blonde head into his hands. Of the two of them, Darwin’s the only one who was cursed with a receding hairline, and he’ll never forgive Alex for keeping his soft spiky hair for so long.

 

“You’ve been too old for this for about ten years, man,” teases Darwin. 

 

They’re cleaning up the tent with Scott and Logan, who are bickering, and it’s getting very late. There’s one show left in whatever town this is - Darwin can’t keep track - and they’ll have to get ready for the jump into the next state soon. There’s a lot of work to be done, but really, Darwin’s never minded any of it. He’s always liked watching Alex and his little brother dance around before the show, hurling their plasma beams out and making fireworks. He’s always liked being The Indestructible Man, always enjoyed the way the humans would scream when his assistant of the night - usually Angel - would hold a gun to his head and shoot.

 

Yes, there will always be the massive downsides to being one of the only colored folks in the circus. People stare at Raven and Kurt and Hank for being blue, but they all assume it’s a color that they can take off at the end of the night. And Darwin has known them for over twenty-five years, and he knows that their lives outside of the circus are just as hard, but it boils down to the fact that there will always be the whispers when he and Angel and Ororo come on stage that used to make him flinch.

 

It’s not all bad, though, when Alex bursts into the audience like he thinks he’s some kind of hero and drags the offender out of the tent. Alex, his stupid dumb brave savior, perpetually twenty one and angry and alone in Darwin's eyes. He can't forget who they used to be, them and the rest of the original performers, Hank and Raven and Sean and Angel. He and Alex used to talk like they could take on the world.

 

Darwin glances across the big top to where Alex has resumed sweeping sawdust and he smiles gently. His hero, indeed.

 

-

 

It is late. The stowaway girl is being led around by the knife thrower, the medic is patching up the younger firethrower, and the mysterious man who lingered at the edge of the big top has appeared like a red shadow by the ringleader’s tent.

 

“I’m so glad you came tonight,” the ringleader says warmly to the man in the scarlet coat. The ringleader’s entire face is bright with joy, and it causes the other man to almost crack a smile. “Did you enjoy the show?”

 

“You know I always enjoy your menagerie of misfits, Charles.”

 

The ringleader laughs. He motions for the other man to sit down in a small chair by the edge of the tent and pours them both a suspicious-looking liquor from a brown bottle. “It’s all I have to drink, unfortunately, but it will do. Would you care for a game before you leave?”

 

“I’m not leaving just yet.” The man in the scarlet coat looks briefly uncomfortable, and then his mask of cold indifference slips across his face once more. “And I will take that game, yes.”

 

A chessboard and old tarnished pieces appear, and the two men begin to play. “You should bring your family next time,” speculates the ringleader. “I do miss those dear girls, and your silly little Pietro. How old are they now?”

 

“The twins are thirty, and Lorna’s twenty-seven.”

 

“Goodness, I suppose I shall have to stop calling him little. And how are they?”

 

“They’re fine. In good health.” A beat passes, and the man in scarlet coughs. “Wanda gave birth to two boys a few months ago.”

 

The ringleader sits up straighter in his wheelchair. “Erik! You never told me she was pregnant!”

 

“You never asked.”

 

“Well, congratulations, old friend. What are their names? I won’t ask who the father is, I am a polite man, you know.”

 

“I appreciate that. One’s named Thomas, the other William. Lorna’s given them nicknames already.”

 

“They sound lovely,” says the ringleader gently. “Will I ever get to meet them?”

 

The man in the scarlet coat swallows. He stares at the chessboard, immobile.

 

“Sorry,” murmurs the ringleader after a long silence. “You know I only wish you the best, Erik-”

 

“Why do you still want this,” he says in reply, his voice low and gritted. “Why must you insist on bringing me and my family back into your life?”

 

You know why.

 

The man in the scarlet coat flinches, and he grips the pawn in his hand tightly.

 

“I must be going,” he says abruptly. The pawn falls out of his hand as he stands up sharply.

 

The ringleader looks sad. “Must you?”

 

“Yes. It was- it was good seeing you again.”

 

“Yes, it was.” He wheels himself over to the flap of the tent, where the man in the scarlet coat is adjusting his hat and moving to leave. “Will you go back to your family?”

 

“I don’t suppose so. I have business to attend to in Nashville.”

 

“Of course you do.”

 

The night is still warm as the man in the scarlet coat steps out of the ringleader’s tent. As he leaves, he feels the gentle presence of a voice in his mind: There’s always a place for you here, Erik. We don’t have to be like this. You could be at peace here, instead of chasing your imaginary enemies halfway across the world-

 

Peace, Erik thinks back sharply in reply, was never an option.

 

-

 

Raven wipes the glitter off her face in slow, long movements. She doesn't have a mirror - she suspects Sean broke it - so she stares at her face in a pail of water. Her entire body is sore from a long night of twisting and curling in on herself, and Raven thinks that she might kill for a massage. Angel should be here with her, the two of them taking off their circus makeup like every other night, but she's gone off somewhere by herself. Raven would love to be able to fly, would love to soar off when life becomes too much to handle.

 

She is getting old. Hank tells her that because of her mutation, she'll never look her age, perpetually stuck in the body of a woman in her late twenties, but Raven can feel herself aging. She isn't nearly as old as Charles, but sometimes she looks at Kurt and wonders, How old was I when I had you? Who was I before Charles took me in to his circus? She remembers Azazel, she remembers being round and heavy with their son, and she remembers every gory detail of Kurt's birth. What Raven can't remember is her age.

 

They’re good to her here, in her brother’s circus. She just misses being who she used to be, wild and fierce with Azazel, spontaneous and bright with Irene, even young and innocent with Hank when they were teenagers and lived with Erik and Charles together. Now Raven feels like a shadow of who she used to be, a bad imitation of her old life.

 

As if summoned just by her thoughts, Hank appears, twisting his pawlike hands and gazing at her nervously. “Hello.”

 

“Hi,” she says, and puts on a tremulous smile for him. “Hank, darling. Come sit with me.”

 

He obliges. He’ll always oblige. He’s so good to her, Raven can scarcely believe that she deserves it. Hank doesn’t say anything, just lifts the wet washcloth to her face and begins wiping off the glitter for her. It is only when he touches her that Raven realizes she is crying.

 

“Shh,” comforts Hank hesitantly, and pulls her to his strong furry chest, rubbing small circles into her skin. Raven doesn’t hesitate, she tucks herself into him, pressing her wet face into his neck. He smells safe. He is safe.

 

-

 

Scott is clearly more of a lightweight than Logan thought, or maybe Ororo's right and he himself is on the fast track to becoming an alcoholic. Still, this doesn't stop him from smacking the fire thrower in the head while Scott is doubled over puking out of one of the train windows and saying, "You get any of that shit inside our car, you're licking it up."

 

"You're fucking disgusting," slurs Scott, pulling his head back into the car to glare at Logan. Today - or yesterday, as it's probably in the very early morning - was Sean's birthday, and they'd put their money together to buy three huge bottles of liquor. Even the teenagers had been allowed a little, because they'd performed well that night, and Logan fondly remembers that new girl trying to get him to dance with her. Anna Marie. He likes her.

 

It's his turn, along with Scott, to babysit the younger mutants, at least the boys: the girls are staying with Angel and Ororo. Usually Kurt watches over them, because Kurt's a sap when it comes to the kids, but he picked up a bad cough from their last show and so Scott and Logan have been thrown into the second to last car. Fuck knows why both of them have to do it, but Logan's having a decent time watching Scott unable to hold his liquor.

 

"Come on," he says as encouragingly as he can, and Logan pulls Scott back into the car. "We gotta watch the kids. Earn our keep, Summers."

 

Scott stares blearily around the dark car. Piotr's playing cards with Remy (fuck knows why he's here, he's nineteen and technically supposed to sleep with Sean and Kurt) and the other teenagers are huddled in the shadows. "John, get your hands out of Bobby's pants," he calls out, looks challengingly at Logan, and ducks his head back outside to vomit.

 

"We're not doing anything," comes the reply from the shadows, along with a spurt of giggling.

 

Logan rubs his temples. This circus’ fucking teenage hormones are going to drive him crazy before Scott does, really. Between John and Bobby trying to suck each other off every time Xavier turns around, Piotr trying to act like Kitty’s knight in silver armor, and Gambit flirting with anything that moves, Logan thinks he might jump out of the train car.

 

Not that the adults are any better, and Logan realizes that he needs to count himself when it comes to tallying up the other mutants madly in love with each other. Sure there’s Alex and Darwin, together for twenty disgustingly healthy years, Raven and Hank, and - he hates to admit it, but - Jean and Scott.

 

God, he wishes Jean were still here. Things could be so much simpler with her.

 

“I’m gonna fucking kill whoever thought it was a good idea for me to do a kegstand,” proclaims Scott when he pulls his head back inside the car, and promptly collapses into the fetal position at Logan’s feet.

 

“That was M. Wagner,” says Remy helpfully.

 

“Got it. Piotr?”

 

“ _Да, сэр?_ ”

 

“Remind me to kill Kurt in the morning,” Scott says from the ground.

 

“ _Да, сэр_.”

 

Logan laughs, and Scott smacks his shins. “Shut the fuck up and get down here, asshole.”

 

They don’t really ever talk about this part, the part where Logan and Scott end up falling asleep with curled up next to each other, breathing the other’s air, because to try to explain it would be goddamn pointless. They aren’t together like any of the other couples that Logan ruminates on. It’s just that they each miss Jean. 

 

It’s kind of sick to think about it, but really: they each just want to be Jean for the other.

 

He falls asleep with Scott’s erection pressed against his thigh and pretends he doesn’t notice.

 

-

 

The best thing that's ever happened to John was the circus.

 

The second best thing is Bobby.

 

He'd come to America like every other eighteen year old, just months into adulthood and ready to work. Except, of course, he had come at the completely wrong time to work in America, and was stuck in Chicago for two years before catching wind of Xavier's Circus down south. So John had packed what things he had and hopped a train. He's spoken to Rogue, he's heard her sob story about leaving her family and future behind for the circus, but John knows stories and John likes his better than hers.

 

See, he was going to be a writer, but a fire eater wasn't so bad either.

 

John's favorite act is when he pretends to swallow a flame, then blows it out of his mouth and lets Bobby freeze it. The crowd goes wild, always. The attention is addictive, and the way Bobby grins at him afterwards is even better.

 

At night, John and Bobby move their cots to the back of the car, away from Piotr and Remy and whoever's watching them, and Bobby climbs on top of him and kisses from John's jawline to his chest and then fucks him, and it's the most amazing thing ever, even if he's sore the next day.

 

Except that Bobby is still stuck in his old Midwestern hometown in his mind, back where boys got killed for doing the things that John does to him. So sometimes he'll be between Bobby's legs at night and Bobby will jerk upright and shove John off him and start sputtering nonsense about his mother, or John's mother (who's been dead for eleven years), or how the men from the church are gonna find them again. So John will hold Bobby's face between his hands until he comes down, but having your boyfriend have a flashback while you're sucking his cock is a bit of a buzz kill.

 

Boyfriend. John likes that word, even if Bobby won't let him use it.

 

Bobby won’t let anyone know that he and John are together, but that’s okay. John isn’t asking for the kind of romance that he writes about in his stories. He just wants food, a place to sleep, and the audience’s gasps and screams of praise. And, sure, maybe Bobby’s gasps and screams sometimes too. He’s happy here.

 

-

 

When the train stops in Hettane, Missouri, the man in the scarlet coat has returned. Except this time he is surrounded by a small group of people: a tall white-haired man, a curly-haired woman, and a slightly younger woman with green hair. In his arms, the man with the scarlet coat is bearing two infant children.

 

The ringleader is the first to disembark the train, and he is the first to find the people waiting for him. Inside the train, the rest of the mutants are told by the contortionist that they must stay inside the train and give the ringleader some privacy.

 

It is a hot, muggy day, and the sun glistens on the ringleader’s wheelchair as he wheels himself toward the tiny family.

 

“Oh my,” he says, the ringleader’s voice breaking slightly. “What a lovely, lovely surprise.”

 

“Hi, Charles,” says the curly-haired woman warmly. “It’s good to see you again.”

 

“Wanda, my dear, you look lovely. And Lorna, Pietro, it’s so wonderful to see you both. And who are these beautiful babies? Thomas and William, if I remember?”

 

“The dark one is Billy,” explains the young woman with green hair, “and the one who looks like his uncle is Tommy. Cute, huh?”

 

“Lorna, they’re-”

 

“You keep saying that,” interrupts the man with white hair, “but it’s just the hair, Lorna, it’s clear that Tommy looks more like his mom. If Billy had green hair, you’d be going on about how he takes after you.”

 

“They’re absolutely gorgeous,” continues the ringleader, as though nothing happened. “Erik, you must have some truly handsome genes to make such a beautiful family.”

 

“Thank you, Charles,” says the man in the scarlet coat, speaking for the first time, “for that odd compliment.”

 

The crowd of mutants inside the train jostle for positions at the window, hoping excitably to catch a glimpse of their ringleader with the man in the scarlet coat. For some of the older mutants, the sight of the two of them causes them to feel at once sentimental, nostalgic, sad, and angry. The younger mutants, who have shared none of the same experiences as their elders, merely giggle to each other about who the mysterious other man is, or how cute his son is.

 

Everyone watches in giddy, fearful silence as their ringleader wheels his chair forward to shake the hand of the man in the scarlet coat. One of the older mutants in the car sighs sadly. The woman with the curly hair sighs gently. The baby with the dark hair kicks his feet out happily.

“Won’t you come outside and meet my old friend,” the ringleader calls out to the mutants inside the train, and they walk out into the bright light where the two men are standing and holding hands at last.


End file.
